


Out of the Shadows

by bravenclawesome



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Epistolary, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post - Deathly Hallows, Post - The Last Battle, Romance, Secret Crush, Survivor Guilt, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-21 17:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1558676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravenclawesome/pseuds/bravenclawesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years after the war and Fred's death, Angelina returns from America to spend Christmas at the Weasley's, inadvertently reopening wounds as she stirs up memories of their brother. As the clock ticks closer to Christmas Day, George ponders how to admit his feelings for his dead brother's girlfriend...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Angelina's Letter

**Author's Note:**

> This story was based off a sub-plot in the play All My Sons by Arthur Miller, where a character dates his brother’s girlfriend even though he isn’t sure whether said brother is dead yet. Obviously, I’ve made some changes because All My Sons is one heck of a tragedy, but if you’ve read/seen the play you’ll know what happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is going to be a short chaptered fic I’m starting up, based off a sub-plot of the play _All My Sons_ by Arthur Miller, where a character dates his brother’s girlfriend even though he isn’t sure whether his brother is dead yet. Obviously, I’ve made some changes, but if you’ve read/seen the play you’ll know what happens. Hope you liked it, and if you did give it a follow!

_Dear George,_

_Of course I can come visit! It is Christmas after all, and I’ve been meaning to return to England for a while now; I think I have been away for much too long, like you said. I’ve been quite busy in America, and I think it’s definitely time to come home._

_I hope you’re doing well; I certainly am over here on my side of the planet. I’ve heard England is particularly chilly this year, but I think you’ll be fine with your Weasley sweaters. Your mother does make them ever so warm._

_The only concern I would have is whether I’d stir up memories of Fred among your family, being his old girlfriend and all that; it’s not too early, is it? It must be very hard on your family._

_I’ll be sure to keep you posted. I’ll owl you as soon as I get back._

_Kisses,_

_Angelina_

* * *

 

George folded the letter carefully and took out a box he kept in his bedside table which, when he opened it, was chock-full of Angelina’s letters. They had been in correspondence since the battle at Hogwarts after she had left for America to, as she said, “get away from the chaos for a bit”.

He put the most recent letter to his nose and sniffed; the last time Angelina had written him, her perfume smelt of summer, fresh fruits and floral bouquets. This time it was a musky, woody aroma that tickled at his nostrils. It had been years since he had last seen her, and he couldn’t deny that he was anticipating the moment when he would be able to see her again. He placed the letter carefully in the box and closed it, sitting on the edge of the bed as he mulled over his thoughts. 

He felt that he and Angelina had grown closer over the years, despite having been so far apart. They had shared a lot together in their letters, constantly updating each other on their lives. Their sign-offs went from friendly ‘Yours trulys’ and ‘Best wishes’ to ‘Hugs and kisses’ and more often than not, ‘Lots of love’. Sometimes George wondered whether Angelina had already moved on from Fred; their conversation topics were of great variety and depth, but somehow they had always managed to avoid the topic of their love lives. George had not dated anyone since, but he was never sure of Angelina. Surely a pretty girl like her would have snagged a boyfriend or two in a country like America. At the thought, he felt a stab of jealousy, then of guilt.

George had never told a soul of his crush on Angelina. It was one he had harboured for years, but he had never admitted or shown it. The reason for this was the fact that his twin brother had been going out with her. In his sixth year when the Yule Ball came around, he didn’t even try to ask Angelina to go with him, all because he knew Fred would first. Angelina had only had eyes for his brother back then, and despite the fact that they looked so similar, George always felt that he was in Fred’s shadow.

Sometimes he fantasised that he would be able to trick Angelina that he was Fred and perhaps make a move of some sort, but he valued his relationship with his brother too much to ever betray him like that. So he had to be content with his position where he was, always letting his brother take the lead, forever playing the supporting role whenever they played practical jokes or pranks. Fred was the one who had suggested the idea of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, and George did all the hard work, accounting all their profits, mixing concoctions for new products and so on. It was always brave Fred, clever Fred, special, funny, charming Fred, and George had gotten used to being overlooked.

Of course, all that changed when Fred died. George still felt the chasm in his heart to this day, like he had lost the better half of himself to closed eyes and a ghost of a smile. Fate had a twisted sense of humour; it was almost as if it was encouraging him to further his advances on Angelina, now that her old boyfriend was dead and gone. He was sorely tempted to do so, but knew it would never happen. So he waited.

He had the fortune to keep in touch with her over the years, and as their relationship developed he became more and more content. He mustered the courage to ask her to come to England for Christmas, claiming that he wanted to see her and had almost forgotten what she looked like. Oh, if only that were true.

Now that he had received her letter, though, he began to feel the slightest hints of apprehension after reading the last paragraph. _Would_ her arrival upset his family? Surely they would understand that she just wanted to come and visit. George didn’t want to stir up a fuss, but oh, did he want to see Angelina so. But now that he thought about it, he didn’t want to think how Molly would react if she knew he wanted to marry –

 _Stop_ , he told himself. He let out a loud sigh and closed his eyes. It was much too early for him to be marrying his brother’s old flame, and Angelina would never have eyes for him.

 _But that might not be true_ , said a voice at the back of his head. _She did agree to come million of miles just to see you, didn’t she? And you’ve been very affectionate to each other in these letters, maybe she does return your feelings…_  

 _Ugh,_ he thought again as he pushed the niggling stream of thought out of his head. He would think about it later, or perhaps not at all. He would see what happened when it actually happened.


	2. The Arrival

When George woke up on the morning of Christmas Eve, he immediately saw that his bedroom window was crusted with frost. He could tell it had snowed the previous night, too, and as he pressed his face to the window (ignoring the numbing cold), all he could see was an enormous, blinding blanket of white stretching out miles into the distant horizon.

Then he thought, _Angelina._ She would be arriving today; she had sent him an owl two days ago saying she was settling in, to give him time to tell his family and prepare for her arrival. He leapt out of bed and narrowly slipped on the bedroom carpet as he made a beeline for the bathroom. He brushed his teeth twice with extra care and scrubbed his face with deliberate vigour until they went pink. When he was done, his teeth were cleaner and whiter than he had ever seen before, though the skin on his face bordered on raw. For a moment, he wanted to laugh at himself for making such a ridiculous effort to look good in front of someone he hadn’t seen in years.

* * *

Angelina Apparated into the Weasley’s farm and instantly found her boots smothered in snow. She pulled them out with some difficulty and shook her feet, and when that didn’t work she bent over to brush at the remaining ice with her warm mittens. Her attempts were futile however, as she made her next step and found she had to repeat the process. Not knowing whether to yell in frustration or laugh, she desisted and trudged forward, lifting each foot with precision and practically clomping through the snow. It wasn’t long before she reached the house itself, and she stood back a little to admire the sight before her. 

The Weasley house looked exactly like how George had described it to her – cozy and a little lopsided. It literally emanated the words _family_ and _home_ in a way she had never seen before. Pleased by this observation, she stepped forward, dragging her trunk behind her, and rang the doorbell. 

It took a lot longer than she expected. When she moved closer to the door, which was apparently not soundproof, she heard someone walking very quickly and a woman’s voice, “Oh, she’s here, she’s here! I’ll get the door!” Said door opened and Angelina came face to face with a very nervous-looking Molly Weasley wearing a flowery, tattered apron.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Weasley,” said Angelina, smiling and sticking out her hand. Mrs. Weasley shook it, but it was a very weak handshake; she was too busy staring at her.

“Merry Christmas, Angelina,” she replied, managing to inject a kind tone into her otherwise faraway voice. “My, you do look different from the pictures of you at the Yule Ball!”

At this, Angelina thought, _Of course._ She had never met Mrs. Weasley in person, but she had forgotten that Fred had taken a photo with her at the Yule Ball. He must have shown it to her all those years ago. It seemed so far away now, and she didn’t know how to feel about the fact that Mrs. Weasley could still remember it so well. “Well, I grew up, you see,” said Angelina, trying for a laugh. To her relief Mrs. Weasley gave a chuckle and made a welcoming gesture with her hands to indicate that she should come in.

“I’ve made some tea,” she said brightly, as Angelina sat down at the table. “Help yourself to some scones, I baked them specially for today.”

“Oh, thank you ever so much, I’m absolutely starving,” said Angelina graciously. “Have you seen George?”

Mrs. Weasley gave a very noticeable start, and the next words that came out of her mouth sounded a little timid, almost unsure. “I-I was just going to get him. Er… give me a moment, he’s just upstairs.” With Angelina watching her, Mrs. Weasley made her way to the stairs, where she yelled shrilly, “GEORGE! ANGELINA’S HERE!”

* * *

George’s first thoughts were  _Merlin’s beard she’s downstairs oh my goodness what am I going to say what am I going to do she’s actually downstairs._ Trying and failing abysmally to cover up his nerves, he came down the steps.

“Ange!” he said brightly as soon as he saw her, doing a double take at the sight. Angelina had grown a lot since he had last seen her; she was thin and graceful in form and had a brilliant smile that lit up as she set her eyes on him.

“George!” she exclaimed, putting down her buttered scone and getting up. She gave him a warm hug as she went over to him. The unexpected action made George freeze, but he recovered and wrapped his arms around her thin waist. _It must be the American influence,_ he thought. Angelina smelt of the woody perfume she had sent him in her letter, but somehow it smelled so much better when it was on her. George realised that they had been hugging for a fraction of a second too long and let go, almost reluctantly. Angelina smiled at him.

“She’s very pretty, isn’t she?” said his mother, who was looking curiously at the exchange between the two of them.

“Yes, of course,” said George enthusiastically, forgetting himself. “Isn’t she the most beautiful girl you ever saw?”

Mrs. Weasley gave a very pronounced cough and sat down abruptly at the table. “Er – you gained a little weight, though, didn’t you, darling?”

“Oh, it comes and goes,” said Angelina breezily, not noticing the undercurrent of tension between mother and son.

Just then there was a loud _clunk_ coming from upstairs, and a stampede of footsteps as the rest of the Weasleys came down the stairs.

“Is she here?”

“What’s going on?”

“ _Angelina!_ ” 

Angelina was overcome by the number of redheads she now saw standing at the foot of the stairs, all grinning at her. “Merry Christmas,” she said, grinning back.

“Merry Christmas,” they chorused. There was a cacophony of scraping chairs as they all made to sit down at the table, before fighting over the remaining scones and the butter dish.

“How have you been?” asked Ron, who was sitting nearest to her. He had also grown a lot since Angelina had last seen him; his hairstyle had changed and he had also grown taller, a feat that Angelina had thought impossible given the height he had already achieved.

“I’m quite well,” replied Angelina. “America’s very different from England, but I’m glad to be home.”

“Can we celebrate tonight?” said Ginny. “A real Christmas celebration, I mean.”

“Yes, let’s,” said Angelina, cheering up considerably. “Raise some hell around here, like before Fred left...”

She instantly knew that she had said something wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, cliffhanger! But since I'm archiving this fic the next chapter will be up very soon!


	3. Stirring Up A Storm

Most of the Weasleys looked like Angelina had just struck a particularly painful nerve as dark looks passed over their faces. She made to apologise, but someone interrupted her. “You think of him!” said Molly suddenly. “She thinks of him!” she repeated to the rest of the Weasley family, looking very triumphant in her _I-told-you-so_ tone.

“But of course I think of him, Mrs. Weasley,” said Angelina, momentarily confused. “That’s a funny thing to say. How could I help remembering him?” 

There was an awkward pause. “Oh, nothing,” said Mrs. Weasley offhandedly, trying to brush the matter off. “Would you like to see your room?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Oh, sure,” said Angelina. She had finished her food, and Mrs. Weasley led the way upstairs. George got up and took Angelina’s trunk, which was lying on its side by the door. Angelina smiled at him as he followed her up the stairs, leaving the rest of the Weasleys at the table, who began to talk about Quidditch.

“Here,” said Mrs. Weasley, opening the door. “I’m afraid there won’t be much space in the wardrobe, so you’ll have to make some space.”

There was a choking noise from behind them; they turned to see George who was staring at them, aghast. “But that’s Fred’s room,” he said quietly.

“Is it really?” said Angelina, looking at Mrs. Weasley strangely. “Are his things still in there?”

“Yes, they are,” said Mrs. Weasley, unabashed. “Don’t you recognize them?”

Angelina felt like a rabbit that had been caught in a net; her gaze took in the things in the room, went to Mrs. Weasley, and back to the room again. “Well, it never occurred to me that you would…” she began, gesturing helplessly. “I mean, it all still looks so… new.”

“Tell me something, Angelina,” said Mrs. Weasley, putting her arm around her in a motherly tone and guiding her into Fred’s room. “Do you go out much?”

“Yes,” said Angelina slowly, wondering what in Merlin’s name this was all about.

“She means,” said George, sounding almost bored as he leaned against the doorframe, “have you moved on?”

“That’s not what I said,” said his mother, blushing, looking almost angrily at George like he had said something terrible.

“But that’s what you meant, isn’t it?” George pressed on determinedly. “You’re wondering if Angelina still thinks about Fred.”

“Well, I can’t help it sometimes,” Angelina began carefully, looking at both of them. “But I can’t hang on to a memory forever.”

Mrs. Weasley looked crestfallen. George blinked and straightened himself. It was only now that Angelina could feel the tension building up in the room. Angelina wondered for a moment whether she had made a bad choice in coming here. It felt like they were trapped in a bottle with the lid screwed shut, and an invisible hand from the outside was squeezing, squeezing so the pressure escalated bit by bit…

“Well, I’ll leave you to unpack your things,” said Mrs. Weasley, getting up and dusting down her apron. “We’ll make plans for tonight later.” She left the room, pushing past George who pressed himself against the doorframe to let her through. It was like the bottle cap had been unscrewed. The pressure deflated like a balloon, leaving George and Angelina together in Fred’s room.

There was a pause. George cleared his throat. “Um,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind if I help you.”

“That would be good,” said Angelina gratefully. “Here.” They unlocked her trunk and began to unpack, while unbeknownst to them, Molly Weasley stood at the top of the stairs, wondering just what Angelina Johnson was doing in her house.

* * *

“Arthur,” said Molly later on that night, when everyone had gone to sleep, “why do you think George asked her here?”

“Well, they’re good friends, aren’t they?” Arthur muttered, turning over in the bed to look at her. “Why shouldn’t he? They’ve been writing to each other for years.”

“But Arthur,” said Molly, sounding distressed, “no one comes a million miles to the other side of the world ‘just to see’. There’s something going on between them, I just know it. When they saw each other George asked me if I thought she was the most beautiful girl I ever saw. _He’s sweet on her, Arthur._ ”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with a little love,” her husband said, chuckling.

“But that’s just it!” Molly whispered. “Of all the people he could fancy, he fancies his brother’s old girlfriend. That’s just not _right,_ Arthur. We can’t let it happen.”

“But why should we stop them?” said Arthur, turning to lie on his back. “He’s gone and she looks like she’s forgotten about him. I think George has fancied her a lot longer than he lets on.”

Seeing that she clearly wasn’t going to be on the winning side of this, Molly fell silent. Moments later, she heard the familiar sound of her husband snoring beside her. She rolled over into a very restless slumber.

* * *

 

George lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. It had been a long time since he had had a day that was so emotionally charged with tension. It was almost eleven thirty and he was sure most, if not all of the family, were sound asleep, excited as they were for Christmas morning. But not him, oh no. He was too busy thinking of the fact that all that separated him from Angelina was a thin cement wall. Fred’s bedroom was right next to George’s, and Angelina was there now. Did he dare go over to visit her?

“Psst.”

George jumped. He couldn’t see properly in the darkness, but he could just make out a shape in the doorway.

“Psst! George!”

It was Angelina. George sat up in bed and squinted. “Ange?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” said Angelina, entering the room and sitting on the bed. “After the interrogation with your mother I’ve been wanting to get out of here. I’ve clearly made a mistake in coming, George – ”

“No, of course not,” said George. “I wanted to see you.” They sat in silence, looking at each other. Angelina was wearing a thin nightie that clung loosely onto her figure, but George could still see the shape of her body in the shadows. “I can’t sleep either,” he confessed. “Do you want to do something, perhaps? Go out for a bit, get out of the house?”

“That would be nice,” said Angelina. “I’ll just go and change.”


	4. Every Day Since

It was a quarter to midnight when George and Angelina Apparated into the middle of Diagon Alley with a _pop_ , holding hands. “Where are you taking me?” asked Angelina, as George led her on the winding cobblestone street.

“To my shop,” he said. “You said you wanted to see Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes.”

“Ooh, yes please,” said Angelina eagerly, walking faster to keep up with him. George had often told her about his shop in Diagon Alley in his letters, talking about how well business was going or whenever he had succeeded in developing a new line of products for sale. She was fascinated by all the things he described of selling in the shop, and couldn’t wait for the moment when she would be able to see it for real.

“Wow,” she exclaimed as the door opened and George turned on the lights. The bell at the door signaling their entrance tinkled, but she too busy looking at all the shelves stocked with colourful products of all shapes and sizes. “Wow,” she said again, walking forward, not knowing where to look, wishing she had more than two eyes so she could look at everything in the shop.

“It’s great, isn’t it?” said George quietly behind her. “I’m glad I didn’t close it.”

“But why would you?” said Angelina, turning in surprise.

George was quiet for a moment. “I…” he swallowed, looked away with difficulty, but decided to continue. “After Fred d- _left,_ I contemplated closing the shop. Life didn’t seem so funny without him by my side. But Harry told me not to.”

“Harry?” said Angelina, smiling.

“Yeah. He said that the world needed a laugh after You-Know-Who, and I guess I saw his point. It was difficult at first, managing it all on my own, but well… here I am.” He shuffled his feet and looked down. “What do you think?” he said shyly.

“I think you’ve done a bloody good job,” said Angelina honestly, with feeling. She had known about the twins’ plans to open a shop like this ever since the Yule Ball when Fred first voiced his passion to become what he called a ‘professional prankster’. “I’m glad you continued the business.”

“Me too,” said George, smiling. “So... you’re not sorry you came?”

“Not sorry, no,” said Angelina, knowing that George was referring to her visit, and not just the fact that she was standing in his shop. “But I’m… not going to stay.” He glanced at her, cocking his head, and Angelina could almost see the question mark forming above his head. She explained, “Well, for one thing, your mother doesn’t want me to, and pretty much implied that I should go. I think she suspects us… and well, then you… you’ve been kind of…”

“What?”

“Well… embarrassed is the word I’m looking for, but you’ve kind of been avoiding me since I got here.”

George gave a nervous laugh. “The trouble is I planned on kind of sneaking up on you over a period of a week or so. I guess you know this is why I asked you to come.” For a moment they looked at each other, not sure of what to say. George’s heart was beating faster and faster as he knew what was coming. _Say it now,_ his mind urged it. _Say it._

“I love you, Angelina,” he blurted out. “I love you a great deal. I’ve loved you since I met you on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and I haven’t stopped loving you since.”

Angelina just stood there, waiting. Her expression was unreadable.

“I don’t know how else to tell you,” continued George, starting to fumble with his words. “I didn’t know how to say it in my letters, so I thought I would ask you to come here so I could say it to your face… it’s stupid, isn’t it, falling in love with your dead brother’s girlfriend? I’m embarrassing you, aren’t I? I’m being stupid, aren’t I – ”

“Oh, George,” said Angelina suddenly, taking a step towards him, “I’ve been ready a long, long time!” Her eyes were shining with joy as she took his hand and held it in hers; the warmth shared between them was electrifying, exhilarating, and George felt his heart skip a beat.

“You’ve moved on,” he said stupidly. “You’re sure.”

“I almost got married two years ago, you know,” said Angelina, staring into his eyes. “But then I got your letter, and I didn’t know how to feel…”

“You felt something that far away?” said George, hope blossoming in his heart. “You’ve loved me since that first letter?”

“Every day since,” said Angelina, squeezing his hand.

“Ange, why didn’t you let me know?”

“Because you were so bloody ambiguous when you were writing me, that’s why,” said Angelina. “I was waiting and waiting for you, but you never gave any indication that you fancied me back. So what could I do? All I’ve done is sit and wonder if I was crazy for thinking of you…”

George was trembling. “Give me a kiss, Ange. Give me a – ” He was stopped short by Angelina, who had closed the space between them and kissed him full on the mouth. He had a momentary brain-freeze: where should he put his hands? Where did people normally put their hands when they kissed? He resolved to let them hang by his sides. He was kissing Angelina, _he was kissing Angelina,_ Fred’s girlfriend – but surely this was a betrayal! He couldn’t touch her, not like this, not when the memory of his brother was still fresh in their minds –

When they broke apart, cheeks flushed, Angelina exclaimed, “I’ll never forgive you, George. I waited ever so long for you!”

“I’m going to make you so happy, Angelina,” said George, kissing her again, carefully and gently on the side of her mouth.

“Not like that you’re not,” she said, sounding almost embarrassed. She placed her hands on his shoulders and looked directly into his eyes. “Don’t kiss me like Fred’s brother. He’s gone forever, he won’t come back.” She squeezed his shoulders and smiled. “Live for me. Do it like you.”

A church bell clanged in the distance, signaling that Christmas Day had begun. Angelina pulled him closer. “Give it your all. Now kiss me like the George Weasley I know.”

So he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want more stories set during Christmastime? Read my other story _Accidentally on Purpose_. If you’re looking for some Wicked fun, try _Twelve Days of Lurlinemas._


End file.
